The riches of a spotless memory, The eloquence of truth, the wisdom got By searching of a clear and loving eye That seeth as God seeth. These are their gifts, And Time, who keeps God's word, brings on the day To seal the marriage of these minds with thine, The salt of all the elements, world of the world. TO-DAY I RAKE no coffined clay, nor publish wide Safe in their ancient crannies, dark and deep, Let kings and conquerors, saints and soldiers sleepLate in the world, too late perchance for fame, - Just late enough to reap abundant blame,— I choose a novel theme, a bold abuse Of critic charters, an unlaurelled Muse. Old mouldy men and books and names and lands I had as lief respect an ancient shoe, As love old things for age, and hate the new. I laugh at those who, while they gape and gaze, The bald antiquity of China praise. Youth is (whatever cynic tubs pretend) The fault that boys and nations soonest mend. 1824. FAME Ан Fate, cannot a man Be wise without a beard? East, West, from Beer to Dan, Say, was it never heard That wisdom might in youth be gotten, He pays too high a price For knowledge and for fame Who sells his sinews to be wise, His teeth and bones to buy a name, Were it not better done, To dine and sleep through forty years; Be loved by few; be feared by none; Laugh life away; have wine for tears; And take the mortal leap undaunted, Content that all we asked was granted? But Fate will not permit The seed of gods to die, Nor suffer sense to win from wit Nor let us hide, whate'er our pleasure, The world's light underneath a measure. Go then, sad youth, and shine; Put youth, joy, health upon the shrine, Being for Seeming bravely barter THE SUMMONS A STERNER errand to the silken troop Has quenched the uneasy blush that warmed my cheek; I am commissioned in my day of joy To leave my woods and streams and the sweet sloth By mind's industry sharpening the love of lifeBooks, Muses, Study, fireside, friends and love, I loved ye with true love, so fare ye well! I was a boy; boyhood slid gayly by And the impatient years that trod on it Taught me new lessons in the lore of life. I've learned the sum of that sad history All woman-born do know, that hoped-for days, 1826. THE RIVER AND I behold once more My old familiar haunts; here the blue river, He hath broke his banks and flooded all the vales With his redundant waves. Here is the rock where, yet a simple child, And hark! where overhead the ancient crows And all their sad significance. The wind, And grave parental love. They are not of our race, they seem to say, That holds and boasts the immeasurable mind. |